


Green-Eyed Monster

by Aviss



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Haunting, not for cersei fans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-08 01:28:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21227534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviss/pseuds/Aviss
Summary: Jaime had never believed in ghosts, at least he didn't until one tried to kill him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was trying for a horror type story for Halloween, not sure I managed to make it as scary as I would like, though.  
Warnings in the end notes

It was past midnight the first time Jaime heard the voice.

He was on that liminal space between the waking world and a dream, everything blurry and soft and warm. He felt fingers combing his hair and made a contented noise, not opening his eyes. It had been ages since anyone touched him like this, he'd almost forgotten the feel of her hands in his hair and her lips against his, their bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces. 

"Jaime," she said, whispering in his ear, and he smiled, burrowing into the soft mattress. He opened his mouth to call her, to tell her how much he missed her, how difficult it had been for him to rebuild his life when the hole left by her absence had almost swallowed him. "Jaime," she said again, and he shivered, even with the duvet thrown over his naked form. 

Jaime extended his hand on the bed, hoping to touch her, there was nothing on the other side, only empty space. He frowned, eyes still closed, and heard her voice again. "Jaime," except her voice was getting sharper, angrier like she did when Jaime refused her anything. Like she had done that last day, on the phone, demanding that he went to her, that it was time for them to be together. _Always_. "You lied, you left me to die alone."

The hand in his hair stopped being comforting, the fingers twisting and pulling sharply, and Jaime opened his eyes, startled into wakefulness by a sharp tug of his hair. He saw her eyes, green like his own, staring at him malevolently from the other side of the bed, and felt a scream stuck on his throat. 

"_Cersei_," he croaked, scrambling back on the bed. When he turned on the light there was nobody there. 

There shouldn't be, Cersei had been dead for years; it had taken Jaime too many hours of therapy to get to the point where he didn't see her shadow everywhere he went, where he didn't hear her voice in his head all the time. He finally could function in the world without feeling like drowning every moment, he didn't need to relapse back to the time after her death.

He got up from the bed and noticed he was shaking, feeling cold and short of breath, his heart racing. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep now, not until he calmed down. Resigned, Jaime yawned and put on some sweatpants and slippers to go downstairs to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. It would calm him, one of the things he learned from his therapist was to not force sleep when he was feeling like having a panic attack, to try and relax and distract himself until sleep came to him. 

He got the tea and grabbed a book from his collection, maybe the dryness of Complexity and Contradiction in Architecture would send him back to sleep before morning came. He sat on the couch to read until his eyes felt too heavy to stay open anymore, convincing himself with each page that it had been nothing but a nightmare.

By morning, he'd forgotten about the green eyes he saw. 

But the green eyes had not forgotten him. 

…

The call came on a Tuesday; it was already past midnight and Brienne looked around the dregs of the night shift, bleary-eyed and undercaffeinated officers wishing they could just go home to sleep, and picked the one who was the least offensive to her.

"Payne, with me," she said, and the rookie jumped to his feet like an overeager puppy. "Home disturbance in the Red Keep, a neighbour has called saying he's heard screams and things being broken."

They drove in silence; of all the calls they got home disturbances were the ones Brienne hated the most, especially after midnight, though they were rarely called to the Red Keep. It was very unusual for them to go to the most affluent neighbourhood in King's Landing, not because they didn't have broken marriages and families, but they had better soundproofing than other neighbourhoods and a lot more lawyers to cover up anything that might end up in the tabloids. 

In her experience, when the neighbours called for a home disturbance it usually meant spousal or familial abuse, and most cases didn't get properly prosecuted regardless of the neighbourhood, that was the part Brienne hated the most.

They stopped the car in front of one of the richest buildings, the concierge stared at them with a puzzled frown while they waited for the lift. The call had been about the penthouse apartment, and that was where they went. It was the only flat on that floor, the fight must have been really loud for the downstairs neighbours to call them. 

"King's Landing police," Brienne called, knocking on the door, and heard the shuffling that indicated movement on the other side. 

The door opened and for a moment, Brienne was speechless. The man on the other side was possibly the most attractive human being she had ever seen; he was almost as tall as she, no small feat when she was six-three, with bright green eyes and golden hair curling gently up to his shoulders, he had the kind of bone structure actors and models would kill for, with a jaw sharp enough to cut glass sprinkled with gold and silver stubble. Brienne wanted to put her teeth on that jaw and bite, and don't stop biting all the way down to his neck and probably much, much lower down what appeared to be a very defined chest and trim waist covered in a soft white shirt. She managed to stop her exploration there and snapped her eyes back up, her entire face flushed at the blatant way she had just been checking him out. 

"We've had a report from a neighbour about a home disturbance," she finally managed, her voice coming out rougher than it should.

The man blinked at her, "Gods, _you're a woman_?" Was what came out of his mouth, and even his voice was sexy. Then his words registered and Brienne shed the lust clouding her mind; this was a house disturbance call, the man was more than likely an asshole, possibly a violent one if the neighbours had had to call the cops on him. 

"There's been a complaint from your neighbours, sir. They've heard screams coming from your flat," she said, her voice back to her normal register, her eyes hard. "May we come in?"

The man shrugged. "I was watching a horror movie on the telly, it must have been a lot louder than I thought." 

The flat was completely silent now. "Which one?" Brienne asked, not even trying to disguise the incredulity in her voice. Payne shuffled uncomfortably next to her. 

"What?" the man asked, confused. 

"Which movie were you watching?" she repeated. 

"Who cares, I can't remember." He crossed his arms over his chest defensively, his eyes darting inside the flat, a clear sign that he was lying. "I'm on my own, I'll apologize to the neighbours for making noise, would that work?"

Brienne shook her head. "I'm afraid we need to check your flat, they heard more than once voice screaming."

The man glared at them but opened the door wider, letting them in, and Brienne and Payne went inside. The flat was huge and richly furnished, with wooden floors and lush rugs and completely open plan. Brienne could see there was nobody else on this floor, though there were stairs going to another floor upstairs. "Payne, can you check upstairs?" He nodded and took the stairs up, while Brienne stayed with the man. A huge flat-screen TV, turned off, covered most of one wall, and a tall bookcase filled to bursting with a variety of books dominated the rest of the room, some of the books were scattered on the floor like they had been thrown from the shelves. There was a couch that looked more comfortable than her bed, a fluffy pillow on it, a throw that looked like a cloud might feel, and a book on the floor next to the shards of a mug of tea, but nothing to indicate the presence of someone else in the flat. 

She turned to the man, "Can I have your name for my report?"

"Jaime Lannister."

Lannister, like the family that owned half of King's Landing and most of the Westerlands. They were all blond and gorgeous according to the tabloids, with one notable exception, and they were all ruthless monsters if the myriad of protests against the family and court cases were any indication. Brienne wasn't surprised to find herself answering a call on one of their houses. She was about to ask a question when there was a sudden noise from upstairs. Jaime tensed, his entire body coiling tight, his shoulders hunching and a look of panic crossing his eyes. 

Brienne frowned at that reaction, that was the kind of reaction she usually saw in the victims. She might have been too hasty to judge here.

"Sorry," Payne called from upstairs, his voice sheepish. "Must have knocked something. There's nobody up here." 

Jaime relaxed when he saw Payne coming down the stairs, his face still flushed. "As I said," he said, composture completely recovered, straightening his spine and looking at Brienne with a self-assuredness she suspected was nothing but a mask. "I'm on my own and I will apologize to the neighbours for the noise, I'll keep the telly down from now on."

There was something not right there, but there wasn't much they could do now. Brienne nodded and lets herself be herded to the door. Jaime leaned against the doorjamb once he opened the door for them, one arm up, and his sleeve rode down his arm to reveal a ring of bruises around his wrist. Her eyes snapped to his again but before she could say anything he had closed the door on her face. 

"Did you see anything peculiar?" Brienne asked Payne on the way down to the car.

"No, Ser, Ma'am." He looked at Brienne wide-eyed and awestruck, a pinkish tint on his cheeks.

"What did you knock?" 

"What?"

"Upstairs, what did you knock that made such a noise?" She asked, curious and saw Payne blush again. 

"I don't know?" Brienne's eyebrow shot up in surprise. She had heard it clearly, something heavy crashing to the floor. "There was this golden lion statue on the floor, and it must have been me who knocked it, though I can't remember being so close to it, because there was nobody else in there."

She sighed asking the Mother for patience; Podrick Payne had been working with them for all of a week and he had imprinted on her. She would have to do something about it, lest he followed her around like an eager puppy and never became a proper cop. 

Once they were downstairs Brienne asked the concierge whether he'd seen anyone coming in or out. "No, and Mister Lannister never brings visitors, except for his brother occasionally. That's why I thought it was so odd, I didn't see anyone with him today."

That didn't mean there hadn't been a person in the flat; someone had left those fingerprint bruises around Jaime Lannister's wrist, someone had made him startle at the smallest noise. If the concierge hadn't seen anyone coming or going, it meant they were probably residents of the building, but Brienne had her hands tied unless _he_ was the one reporting it, and fewer men than women did.

They left the building and she couldn't help but turn to look at the penthouse, where the lights were still on.

…

Jaime started to shake the moment the door closed after the policemen, his legs barely carrying him to the couch. He all but fell on it, taking deep breaths to calm his hammering heart, goosebumps covering his skin. 

He'd been sleeping when he heard her voice again; Cersei, calling his name, softly at first, like a caress, like part of the dream. And then her screams, like during their fights, like a nightmare. He'd been spending so much time on the couch his back was aching, even Tyrion remarked how tired he looked when they had lunch a couple of days back. Jaime couldn't help it, he hadn't been able to sleep in his bed since that day when he saw her eyes staring back at him for the first time. It wasn't the last time, but he had been able to dismiss it as his mind playing tricks on him before. 

It didn't take a genius to make a connection; Tywin had died six months ago and just last month Jaime had taken home the few objects bequeathed to him, though he hadn't had the stomach to go through them yet. The box was still sitting in his wardrobe, closed and taking up space while Jaime pretended to forget it was there.

He had also inherited more money he knew what to do with and a controlling interest in Lanniscorp, but he cared nothing for that. Let Uncle Kevan manage the family business, he had always been better at it than Jaime, who cared for nothing but his own little studio. He still didn't know why he had inherited it; Tywin had publicly disowned him years ago when he chose to study architecture instead of business and started his own studio. He guessed that when you disowned all your children for real or invented offences, the choices of heirs were limited if you wanted to keep your wealth in the family. Jaime's sin was the most easily overlooked; not wanting to follow in your father's footsteps was easier to forgive than being born a dwarf or a woman. At least in Tywin's world.

The thing was that Jaime cared as much for the money as he did for the trinkets, but he hadn't had a decent night of sleep since he shoved that Godsdamned box inside his wardrobe. 

He knew what his therapist would say if he were to call her. 

"You have been thinking about your sister since you received some of her things, Jaime," Doctor Anders would say in that calm and reasonable tone she had that drove Jaime up the wall. He really missed his old doctor, hated that Sam moved back to the North when his second son was born, and wished he'd taken him up on the offer of keeping up the treatment by video calls His replacement, regardless of the recommendation, was just not as good as Sam but Jaime wouldn't go through the hassle of finding a new one who might also irritate him. "It's normal that you hear her voice and see her when you have her so present again in your life."

Except he hadn't been thinking about her. Jaime had made a point of not thinking about his sister for years, and receiving the stupid box had not been the thing that made him. He wasn't seeing Cersei because he'd been thinking about her, he was thinking about Cersei because he had seen her, insane as that might sound. 

He had seen her staring at him from the other side of his bed. He would recognize her eyes anywhere, they were so similar to his and yet they had nothing but hatred for Jaime the last time they met. 

He still couldn't think about her without feeling cold everywhere. 

He forced himself to take a deep breath and think about something else, anything else. Jaime found himself thinking about the policewoman who had just been in his flat. She had been tall and broad, taller than him and with shoulders that spanned most of his doorway. Jaime had not realized it was a woman, not with her size and her coarse features, until she had spoken. She was ugly, with her face almost covered in freckles and a broken nose and too wide mouth. Her eyes, though, had been remarkable, a deep blue he had rarely seen and so calm. Jaime felt his breathing ease recalling her eyes, the blue of the deep waters surrounding that island in the Stormlands where Tyrion had taken him once to relax. He smiled recalling the way she had looked him up and down, shocked by his appearance, and the blotchy flush to her cheeks. Jaime had been too shaken to be unnerved by her scrutiny, as he usually was when women checked him out so blatantly. 

There had been something in her shocked embarrassment he had liked, though, and her interest had not been predatory like most women who hit on him but somehow reluctant. 

She had been observant, too observant if the way her eyes had focused on Jaime's wrist when she was leaving was any indication. Jaime shivered, he was thinking about it again. He grabbed his right wrist with his left hand and rubbed it softly, covering the mark. He could feel the tenderness there, the skin already purple, and saw the same mark on his other wrist. 

He couldn't explain how they got there. 

He had been sleeping, covered with his favourite throw on the couch, the book about medieval metallurgy he was reading fallen from his hand. He had felt her fingers in his hair first, had startled awake as she was saying his name for the first time. 

"Jaime." 

It had been whisper soft, the way she used to call him when they were children but Jaime had still stiffened, his blood frozen in his veins. She hadn't stayed soft for long once Jaime was awake. 

"_Traitor_. _You left me to die alone!_" She had screamed, loud enough to make his ears hurt. It must have been what the neighbours heard, that and the crash of some books to the floor from their place in the bookcase. "_Coward, you left me!_"

That had startled Jaime into movement, fight or flight reflex had kicked in and he had tried to stand from the couch and found himself unable to, his wrists trapped against the soft cushions, cruel fingers encircling them and pressing hard, grinding the fragile bones together, pain shooting up his arm and dispelling the last traces of sleepiness. 

"You're not real," he had said, his voice shaking almost as hard as he was. "Go away, you're dead!"

"_Coward!_"

"You're not real!" he had shouted, putting all his strength into freeing his arms from the iron grip that was keeping them pinned, and he remembered that Cersei had always been too strong for her small frame, had relished the bruises she caused him sometimes in pretended carelessness that had always felt more like cruelty. "Leave me alone!"

He had freed himself then, falling from the couch and knocking the mug of tea which had shattered on the floor, his breathing coming in short pants and his entire body shaking. The room had started to feel warmer after a second, not that it had made any difference for him; Jaime had been still standing frozen in the middle of the living room, shaking like a leaf, when the knock from the police had come. 

He didn't know what to do; the fact that the neighbours had called the police and the marks on his wrists proved it wasn't his imagination. It wasn't his brain, or his guilt, or whatever else Doctor Anders thought it could be. His brain might hate him sometimes, but it wouldn't make him scream loud enough to disturb the neighbours, wouldn't have left bruises around his wrists and wouldn't have thrown the books to the floor.

This was real. This was happening to him. 

Whatever it was his sister wanted from him, it couldn't be good.

…


	2. Chapter 2

The box felt cold to the touch and just having it in front of him was making Jaime's skin crawl but he didn't think he had any other option but checking what was inside. The timing was too much of a coincidence, it hadn't been until he brought the things from the Rock that it had all begun.

He'd been putting it off for days, the terror and pain of the night fading in the harsh light of day. He had almost convinced himself it was all in his head, something easy to do if he didn't look or touched the bruises around his wrist. 

The morning after the cops had gone to his house Jaime had called the office to say he'd be late in; he hadn't fallen asleep until almost morning, too strung out and plain scared to do more than lay on the couch swaddled in his throw and stare, unseeing, at the ceiling, his mind going round and round in circles until he finally nodded off for a couple of hours. He was feeling exhausted, but with the sun shining outside and the warmth coming through the windows it was harder to believe that his dead sister was somehow haunting him. 

He had gone to work and immersed himself in a project, the familiarity of the task dispelling the last of his uneasiness. It had lasted for a couple of days, and though it was always in the back of his mind when he was at home, he had avoided going back as much as possible, accepting dinners with Tyrion and Shae when he would usually just head back to his place as soon as they were done for the day. 

He had to spend a full night home eventually and it was a lot harder to make himself believe it was all in his head when he felt shivery at the idea of going back to his room to sleep. He had done it, though, kept one of the dryest design books he had at hand for before bed and had gone to sleep with patterns and shapes in his head. 

He had woken up with hands around his throat and his chest feeling like it was about to explode, deprived of air. The room was still pitch black, and he'd have put it all down to a nightmare, except he could hear Cersei's harsh whispers in his ear, "_We belong together, you need to come to me._" When he'd turned on the light and gone to the bathroom to look at himself, there had been a mark around his neck, not as vivid as the one fading from his wrists but clear enough.

He had taken the box out of the wardrobe and moved it downstairs as soon as his hands had stopped shaking, then he made a pot of the strongest coffee he had and waited for morning to arrive. There was no way Jaime was opening that box during the night.

He was practically vibrating with a mix of caffeine and nerves when the sun was finally up in the sky, the light and warmth bathing his room from the windows. He noticed how cold the box was when he touched the cardboard flaps to open it. He steeled himself and put his hands inside, almost expecting them to freeze and break off his body.

Nothing happened, and Jaime sighed in relief and pulled out the first things there.

He began with a book that was clearly a scrapbook or photo book of some kind. If this had been a movie, the book would have contained clippings about his life after he left home, or Tyrion's life at all, or anything to prove that Tywin had cared about something more than his company and the Lannister name. This was real life, though, and the book contained pictures and clippings of them, but only up to the point where Joanna Lannister, the only person Tywin had ever really loved, had died. 

There were no pictures of Tyrion and none of Jaime and Cersei older than seven years old. Jaime put it aside carelessly, this wasn't what he was looking for. Neither were the next items, his mother's wedding ring and the emerald necklace Tywin had gifted her on their wedding. Jaime had heard the story of the necklace plenty of times, needed only a cursory look at the velvet box to confirm it was it. 

Cersei had been obsessed with it, she had wanted to borrow it for her wedding day but Tywin had refused. She had been so angry, Jaime remembered, Cersei had commissioned something similar that still had not felt good enough for her even though she had looked beautiful with her white dress, her golden hair falling in artistic waves and the emeralds around her neck complimenting her eyes. 

He remembered they had had a huge fight the week before the wedding. He had asked her to run away with him again, and Cersei had practically laughed in his face.

"We'll be together, the way we should always be, like you've always said."

"I have to marry him, can't you see?" She had said, her mouth twisted in irritation. "We can't have rumours about us, and father needs to seal those deals with Robert's company."

"Who cares? We can run away, change our names and start fresh in Essos, we have plenty of money." He had insisted. He had come into his trust fund already, and so had she, there was more than enough to live comfortably. And he could finish his studies anywhere and work, they would be provided for.

Cersei had pushed him away, dragging her nails down his arms until he was wincing. "Don't be stupider than you usually are. We are Lannisters, nobody else is getting what's ours. Don't ever suggest this again."

They had not been on speaking terms on her wedding day. At least not until the reception, when she had dragged him to a tiny storage room in the restaurant and he had fucked her against the wall, her white dress hitched up around her waist. 

That was probably the first time Jaime had really hated her, though it hadn't been the last.

They had had more arguments after that one, and Jaime had started realizing Cersei would never love him the way he loved her. He would never be her entire world the way she had been for him, would never give up anything for him. He had focused on his studies and opening his studio with Tyrion then, and distanced himself from Cersei and Tywin. 

He kept going through the contents of the box and was surprised to realize it was mostly things that had belonged to his mother. There was nothing of Cersei's there, nothing beyond some pictures of her when she was a child, always in her mother's arms and with Jaime next to her. There was more jewellery, a gold and rubies pendant with matching earrings which Jaime put aside to give to Tyrion. They would look amazing on Shae, and it would be the perfect fuck you to Tywin for not attending his son's wedding. There were some more rings and earrings and necklaces, but they were all Joanna's. There was also her wedding dress, folded and carefully pressed, and some tiny dresses and suits which had to belong to Jaime and Cersei and had their names embroidered by their mother. He put them aside, so he could dispose of them, and under that, he finally found what he was looking for. 

He could remember the day he had given this ring to Cersei, it was after they had slept together for the first time. He had been exultant and in love and drunk on happiness, and had blown a big chunk of his allowance in getting the extravagant ring, the gold with inlaid rubies which no boy his age should have been able to afford. He had imagined Cersei would be happy with it, but she hadn't. 

"Why would you do this?" she had asked him, her eyes furious. "This is clearly an engagement ring, I can't say I got it from my brother!"

"Why not?" he had asked, uncomprehending, and she had sunk her nails on his biceps until Jaime had winced in pain. 

"Are you really this stupid?" she had hissed angrily before shoving the box into his hand and turning around. Jaime had then sneaked into his father's bedroom and put it in the safe there, where all the other jewels were kept, thinking she might want it back at some point though she never had. He had counted on there being enough jewels there already for this one not to be discovered, and he had been right. 

It appeared to have been the only thing of Cersei Tywin had kept, possibly because he never found it was there. He must have thrown everything of hers as soon as he disowned her, and Robert clearly had done the same when he kicked her out.

Tywin had disowned Cersei shortly before she died. By that time Jaime had almost extricated himself from her, though he still had some relapses when she called him crying and told him that she loved and needed him. He couldn't help it, and hated himself for it, but it was hard to get over twenty years of loving the same person and believing in her when she said they were destined to be together, they were two halves of a whole and they would leave the world as they had come to it. She used to say nobody would love him the say she did, because nobody would ever understand him as she did. But she also had liked to call him stupid every chance she got, liked to scratch him and bit him during sex until he was wincing in pain, and later apologized and kissed it better if he said something. She would complain about her husband's brutality and then do the same to Jaime, relishing the power she had over him, most of the time creating marks that would mirror the ones she had. 

It wasn't until her husband had found her cheating on him, and not with Jaime, that the veil had been finally lifted from his eyes. She had always said they were mirrors, but he didn't recognize the person she had become. She had always said she loved him and only him but had been fucking other men any chance she got while Jaime had never been with another woman.

It had been this unwelcome revelation what had made him refuse her calls and not listen to her messages. Completely ignore her as her life crumbled around her, it had been her own doing after all.

That last night Jaime had been staying at Tyrion's because he had been close to giving in and answering her calls. He still remembered her last message. 

"He's taken everything from me, but I still have you, don't I, my sweet brother? I'll always have you, we came into this world together, it's time that we leave together. I will take everything from him as well." Jaime had heard the slurring in her voice, had known she was drunk when she left that message. "Come at once, I love you. I love you. I love you. I need you. Come at once."

He hadn't. She had died alone, though Jaime knew she hadn't really intended to take her life. She had just been too drunk and too angry and lost control of her car. But she had died alone.

And it looked like she hadn't forgiven him for it. 

…

Disposing of the few of Cersei's belongings was easy, if only for how few they were. He had considered disposing of everything but didn't see how Joanna's things would matter here. It wasn't as if their father had ever allowed any of them to touch them.

Part of him was wondering whether he should speak to Tyrion, come clean with him and tell him what had been going on. If someone was going to believe Cersei was vindictive enough to keep ruining Jaime's life from beyond the grave, it was certainly Tyrion. He had known of their relationship, though he had never approved of it, and he had helped Jaime during his darkest moments. 

He was also the most rational person Jaime knew, and the one least likely to believe in ghosts. He could already picture Tyrion asking whether he was still taking his meds and if he had spoken to his doctor in case they needed to switch them again. 

No, it was better not to involve anyone in case they didn't believe him, and to be honest, he wouldn't have believed anyone saying they were being haunted by their dead twin before it happened to him. 

So Jaime waited until the Saturday evening, two thankfully quiet days when Cersei didn't do anything and which made him wonder again whether he was really losing his mind, and bundled the clothes and the pictures and the ring and went to do what every trashy movie and novel told him to do in this case. He avoided the Sept and the Weirdgod, somehow reluctant to bring the Seven or the Old Gods into this, and headed straight for the temple of R'hllor. 

This time of night on a Saturday it was almost empty, which suited Jaime just fine.

"You're going to need more than this, but it's a start," a woman said when Jaime entered the temple, and he startled. He turned to see a red priestess, her hair the colour of blood and dressed in the same shade in one of their religion's tunics. She was wearing a big red gem against her throat, and it seemed to catch the light and shine, almost pulsating.

"What?" Jaime said, staring wide-eyed.

The priestess tilted her head to the side, like she was listening to something, and gave a small nod. "The pyre at the back is cleansing, though she's not in those. When you find her, come and get me." 

She turned around and disappeared through one of the side doors before Jaime could do anything. Rattled, he took a deep breath and walked inside, looking for the pyre she had mentioned. There were a few people around it, all staring into the flames probably hoping to divine the meaning of life.

He approached them, holding the bag with the few of Cersei's belonging to his chest, and as soon as he was close enough to feel the heat on his face and hear the crackle of burning wood over the chants, he threw the bag inside the pyre, watching how it burned slowly, first the fabric of the clothes, reduced to ash far quicker than it should and then the ring, which shouldn't be melted by a normal fire but in here, in this cleansing pyre, was losing shape, even the rubies disappearing. Jaime couldn't help shivering, the voices around him climbing higher and higher, almost as if it was one single voice. 

Once he couldn't see anything but flames, he turned to leave. The red priestess was by the door, watching him.

"Be careful, the night is still dark and full of terrors," she said, and Jaime froze for a moment before he shook himself out and left the temple.

It had felt like a prophecy.

...


	3. Chapter 3

It was about a month after that first time that Brienne was called to Jaime Lannister's apartment again. Just for once, Brienne would love to be wrong about something. 

Podrick Payne wasn't on shift that night, and that meant she had been stuck with Hyle Hunt, the most annoying of all her colleagues. "Let's go, Brienne," Hyle said, leaning too close to her in unearned familiarity. She took a step back and headed towards her car. "Time to go see the pretty boy again."

Brienne shot him a look, there was a mocking note in his tone she usually disliked, but tonight it really got her back up. 

"You've been to Lannister's house before?" she asked, not that surprised. She had not been since that first night, but she had been off for a few days visiting his father in Tarth, and had also been in the day shift. If there had been more calls to his house, she hadn't been there to respond.

"We've all been," Hyle said with a shrug. "He should invest in some soundproofing if he likes to get his ass beaten so much. Or report the bitch that uses him as a punching bag, but he keeps insisting there is nobody with him, and we've never found anyone there. Maybe it's a bloke, and he doesn't want anyone knowing he likes cock."

She glared at him, disgusted. "Maybe this is the reason he doesn't report?" she said coldly, and Hyle had the gall to chuckle at her. "It's difficult enough to report abuse, your attitude doesn't help."

He shrugged. "The man is rich and has women throwing themselves at him, he must like being treated like this. Besides, you've seen him, tall and big man like that? it's either another bloke or huge broad like you." He looked at her with that same smirk that made her want to punch him every time. "Not that you could land a man like that, you'll be better accepting my offer."

"I'd sooner join the Silent Sisters," she said and proceeded to ignore him all the way to the Red Keep. 

Hyle Hunt had been trying to get Brienne to go out with him for as long as she had known him, first because there was a big pot in the precinct when she joined. A bet to see who would fuck _'the ugly cow'_ first. Captain Tarly had put an end to it, but not before he humiliated her for daring to be a woman and work as a cop. She had transferred out of Tarly's precinct into Selmy's, who was a much better Captain and not so much of a sexist pig. Unfortunately, Hyle had also been transferred not six months later, and since then he had tried to get Brienne to go out with him. He had not apologized for his part in the bet, though.

"I'll speak to him when we go upstairs," she said while they waited for the lift, not trusting Hyle with this after what he'd said. "You check the top floor and keep your opinions to yourself."

She knocked on the door and did a double-take when it opened. It was almost impossible to believe this was the same man she remembered. He was still golden and beautiful, almost more beautiful than before, but he looked exhausted and unkempt, like he hadn't had one minute of peace in the entire past month. His hair was greasy and fell limply on his shoulders and there was an almost fully grown golden beard shot with silver covering his jaw and cheeks, his eyes were still the same green but they were dull and flat now, sunken on a face that wasn't sharply defined anymore but gaunt. There were fingerprint bruises on his wrists and throat now, his entire posture radiating defeat.

"Come inside and check," he said opening the door wider to let them in without really looking at them. "You won't find anyone but me at home tonight either."

He looked up and when his eyes met Brienne's he visibly startled. He exhaled loudly, holding her gaze as if mesmerized for a moment too long, his chest expanding with deep breaths. There was a loud noise from inside then and he flinched, closing his eyes, the moment broken. 

Brienne went inside followed by Hyle, she sent him a sharp look when he opened his mouth. "I'll check upstairs," was all he said, for once not being a complete asshole. It looked like Lannister's appearance had shocked him as well. 

"Mister Lannister," Brienne began, looking at him after a quick check of the open room to confirm what she already knew, there was nobody there. She had already checked with the concierge, who had said the same as the previous times, Jaime Lannister had not brought anyone to his flat, now or the previous times. It had to be someone from the building then, someone who had ramped up the attacks on him.

"Jaime, my name is Jaime," he said, and his voice sounded rough, painful the way people who had been strangled did. 

"Jaime, whoever's doing this to you, you have to report it," Brienne said, using her calmest voice. He laughed then, as if her suggestion was the funniest thing he had ever heard, his eyes darting around the flat until they landed on an open cardboard box in the corner of the room. "We can help you."

"Can you? Do you see anyone, Agent?" he asked, extending his arms to encompass the room, clearly empty of anyone but them. His shirt rode up then and there she saw the same fingerprint bruises around his wrists and also four parallel lines running down the inside of his forearm. Fingernail tracks. 

Brienne sighed. "Are you going to tell me you've walked into a door? Or fallen down the stairs?" She looked at his arms pointedly. "Did you do that to yourself?"

"No, I didn't," he said, he looked at the stairs where Hyle's footsteps could be heard, an expression of disgust on his face. "but you won't believe me if I tell the truth, so I won't bother."

She looked in the same direction. "He's not here, and I don't make judgements on people."

"What's your name, Agent?" he asked.

"Brienne Tarth."

"Like the Island, that explains the eyes," he said nonsensically. "You're lying, Brienne Tarth," he added, still in the same low and resigned tone. She was about to protest, ask what he meant when he continued talking. "You came here that first time, and you judged me. You saw me and automatically assumed I had been beating someone up, I could see it in your eyes." Brienne blushed but could say nothing to deny his accusation. He was right, she had thought of that. 

"I'm sorry, I know better now."

He laughed mirthlessly at that. "No, you don't, because I don't know why this is happening and I don't know how to stop it. I thought I did, it tried to make her go away, but she's still here." He looked at Brienne, again staring into her eyes with an intensity she found unnerving. "Look, I know what you think, that it must be someone in the building. Some man or woman. It's not. Cersei--"

Hyle chose that moment to come down the stairs, stomping very noisily, and Brienne cursed under her breath when Jaime snapped his mouth shut and straightened up, clamming down again. 

"Empty," Hyle said, looking between the two of them where they were standing, way closer than she had realized. 

She took a step back and Jaime mirrored it, sitting heavily on his couch. "You can see yourselves out," he said, lying down and covering himself with his blanket, closing his eyes. 

Brienne lingered for one moment longer, staring at the curled up figure on the couch. There was something there, something vulnerable and defeated in his posture, that made Brienne want to stay and keep pushing until she got an answer so she could help him. Or maybe stand guard over him, that was the reason she had become a cop, to protect people, and he looked like he needed protecting. 

"_Tarth_," Hyle's voice snapped her out of it, and she turned her back on Jaime Lannister and left his house. 

She was still thinking about it when they returned to the precinct. Brienne had ignored all of Hyle's overtures of conversation until he had just given up with a disgruntled look at her and drove the car, the radio playing loudly to fill the silence. She went straight to her computer and pulled the records from Jaime Lannister's address, opening a notebook to write down some details. 

There had been seven calls to his place already, including both she had attended, and in all of them the pattern was the same: neighbours would complain of raised voices and noises like in a fight, when the officers arrived only Jaime Lannister was in the house and the concierge confirmed nobody had left the building or entered with him. There were some notes made by the officers. 

On the second call, Jaime Lannister had been hostile and tried to refuse them entrance to the house, though he had relented after a moment when '_a loud crash came from inside_' according to the report. There had been books toppled on the floor, exactly like the time Brienne had been there, and nobody in the house.

That was the only time he had tried to keep them out. The following one had been Hyle who answered the call, which explained why the report was so thin and sparse on the details. It just said the same, that the house had been empty except for Jaime Lannister, and mentioned a bruise on his face but nothing else. 

The injuries appeared to be getting worse with each report, same as the material damage, but there was nothing there which told Brienne anything, and he had refused to see a doctor or to make a report. She closed her eyes, tired. There was something there that hadn't made sense to her, but she couldn't put her finger on it. 

It was a quiet night, so she opened a browser and searched for Jaime Lannister. 

She had been right to think he was part of the main Lannister family, the ones who were richer than the Gods and controlled the biggest corporation in Westeros. He _was _the head of the Lannister family, having recently inherited everything from his father, Tywin Lannister. However, he didn't seem to be involved with Lanniscorp beyond owning it now; surprisingly what Jaime Lannister was more famous for was the Tyrell building in the middle of the business district. It had been built five years ago and still drew controversy from people, who either loved it or hated it.

There was a quote from the Tyrell matriarch about the building, which had garnered many critics because the Tyrells had commissioned from Jaime Lannister's studio instead of a bigger firm. 

"We know talent even if Tywin doesn't, that's his problem." Brienne smiled at that, Tyrell and Lannister had been rivals since forever and it was so much like the Tyrell matriarch to use their rivalry like that. 

She kept reading, though the Lannisters were a favourite of the tabloids, there was almost no personal information about Jaime. He was single and even the paparazzi had given up on finding him in a compromising position with anyone, it seemed as if he was seeing someone, they were very discreet about it. There were many of his accomplishments in the world of architecture listed, mentions of the studio he shared with his brother, and here Brienne saw a photo of both of them Jaime and Tyrion, one as golden and beautiful as the Warrior, the other made of mismatched parts like Brienne herself. They appeared to be close, and you could see the familiarity in the way they posed together. 

There was also a mention of a sister, Jaime's twin, who had died in a car accident years ago. Brienne clicked the link, not really expecting anything from it, and froze. 

_"Cersei Lannister dies in a tragic car accident."_

That was the name he had said. Cersei. It couldn't be related to all this, but somehow Brienne knew it was. 

She opened a new browser window and started a new search.

It looked like Cersei Lannister had been the polar opposite to her brother, though physically they were very similar. She had been incredibly beautiful, with the same golden hair and green eyes her brother had, she had been a socialite, her entire life plastered on one tabloid or other, always smiling with men as attractive as she was by her side, always looking for the spotlight.

Brienne read a few articles but learned little about who she had been until she got to the articles about her wedding and her divorce. There were pictures of the wedding, and Brienne hadn't thought she could look more beautiful but she did. Jaime was also in the picture standing next to her, Cersei had a proprietary hand around his arm, her hand gripping his bicep, and he looked like he'd much rather be somewhere, anywhere, else. The next article was about her divorce, messy and publicly shaming, as she was reported to have been caught having an affair. Both families, Lannister and Baratheon, had refused to comment.

Then there were the articles about her death, the tabloids didn't report anything but that she had lost control of the car and died tragically young. It reeked of Lannister money in action. 

Brienne went back to her system and searched for the report in there; she looked at the pictures of the accident and read the coroner's report. This was what had been kept away from the news, Cersei had been driving drunk when she crashed her car.

The news article didn't mention anything like that, just spoke of her life and how young and pretty she was; there were some pictures of the grieving family and an old one of the twins. They were in their early twenties and had been caught in a candid moment, Jaime was looking at his sister like she hung the moon, Cersei was laughing, head tilted back, her hand on the crook of her brother's elbow once again. 

That wasn't what drew her eye, though. 

Brienne enlarged the picture as much as she could before it pixelated, and there it was, Jaime Lannister's arm and four parallel lines running down his forearm, just like the ones she had seen before. 

It could be a coincidence, but something told her it wasn't.

…

Brienne had been waiting for the call, keeping an eye on the dispatch so she could be the one to answer it the moment it came. She was in luck and Podrick Payne was also working that night, she gestured for him to accompany her and they went to the car.

"I want to speak to him alone," she said when they were on the way. "Can you stay in the car?"

Payne looked at her dubiously. "You don't think he's dangerous?" He asked and Brienne had a moment to picture him as she had last seen him, curled on his couch with a blanket thrown over him.

"No, he's in danger." She didn't know why but she was sure of this. She was also sure she didn't want anyone interrupting this time; she had been close to getting something out of him last time.

"I'll stay in the car then."

If Jaime was surprised to see her alone when he opened the door, he said nothing, just looked at her with the same intensity of the previous visit and let her in. "You know the way," he said gesturing to the stairs to the top floor before going to sit on the couch. 

"No need, there's nobody up there," she said, and Jaime looked at her with something like curiosity for the first. "The same as there's nobody down here."

He frowned, his posture straightening a bit as he stared into her eyes. Whatever he was looking for in there, he seemed to have found it. "You believe me, about that at least."

Brienne looked for a place to sit that would bring her to his eye level, but all the chairs were too tall, meaning she would loom over him and that was the last thing she wanted to do. She gestured to the couch. "May I?" 

"Why? If you believe I'm on my own, there's no point in you being here."

She sat next to him, though far enough they were not touching. "You were about to tell me something last time."

"Was I?"

"Cersei, is that right?" Brienne asked and Jaime flinched as if struck. "That's the name you said, right before my partner came down. It's not a typical name, Cersei, the only one I could find is your sister. But she's dead, she can't be the one doing this to you."

"Can't she?" He smiled at her then, a terrible thing. "I told you, you wouldn't believe me."

"I'm trying to help."

"You can't," he insisted.

She stared at him, at his dead eyes and the defeat in his posture, and the fresh marks on his arms, and wondered how much longer until she was called for the last time. He looked like a man at the end of his tether. 

"When I was a child my father sent me to a Septa school," she began, Jaime frowned at the non-sequitur but didn't interrupt her. Maybe he cared to hear what she had to say, or maybe he just didn't want to be alone, if only for a few minutes. "One of my teachers, Septa Roelle, had it out for me. She would insult me continuously, call me ugly and brutish and say that no man would ever want to marry me as if we were in the Targaryen era and all a woman could want was a husband. When I didn't respond to her insults, she hurt me. Nothing major, not punches or beltings or anything like that. Her favourite thing to do was dig her nails into my arms," Jaime winced at that and covered his arm, an instinctive movement, his eyes fixed on Brienne's. "She'd scratch down my forearm, hard enough that I cried a couple of times, but she never drew blood and the marks used to fade pretty quickly. No proof to show my father that way."

"Your Septa was a cunt," he said.

She looked pointedly at Jaime's arms then. "So was your sister." He stiffened then but didn't deny it. "I saw some pictures of the two of you, you had the same marks. She wasn't as careful as my Septa. That was how she used to hurt you then, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was." Jaime had not looked away from her eyes the entire time they were speaking, again with the same intensity she had felt before, his expression a bit more open. Brienne felt a thrill of triumph that he had got him to talk. "She also liked to leave bruises, especially because I was stronger than her. She liked that I let her do it."

"Who is doing it now, Jaime?"

It was a mistake, Brienne realized the moment his expression closed off again. Jaime blinked slowly and looked down at his hands, and Brienne cursed himself. She had lost him. The room suddenly felt a lot colder. "I think we're done here, Agent Tarth, unless you want to check upstairs."

She waited in silence for a moment too long, then stood from the couch and took the stairs up to the upper floor in the hopes that he would change his mind before she left. The top floor was a mess, was the first thing she noticed. The bedroom would have been stylish if the entire contents of the wardrobe weren't thrown everywhere, drawers opened and clothes falling from them. There was the overpowering scent of broken perfume bottles, and on the side, she could see the bathroom door opened and all the toiletries and medicines scattered on the floor.

There was nobody there, and checking the contents of the bathroom, there hadn't been a second person in this house recently. Any regular visitor would have a few things, toothbrush or favourite shampoo or even a change of clothes. There was nothing in here.

Brienne was going back to the stairs to leave when she heard the noise, she turned around and saw one of the drawers practically flying out of the cabinet and crash against the other wall. Her blood turned to ice in her veins, she couldn't have seen that. 

The next crash came from downstairs, and Brienne rushed down the stairs. The few books that had stayed on the shelves were dropping now, crashing to the floor in a noisy cascade, but it wasn't Jaime pushing them off their place. He couldn't be. Jaime was on his back on the couch, struggling against something Brienne couldn't see. But she could hear it.

A feminine voice, screaming. "You left me alone, liar!"

Jaime wasn't screaming, he wasn't even breathing. As she watched, the skin of his neck was turning darker, a bruise blooming around his throat, his body spasming, his hand clawing uselessly at thin air. 

Brienne wanted to scream, frozen in fear. Then Jaime stopped struggling, and she found she could speak, after all. "Cersei, leave him alone," she said, infusing her voice with as much authority as she could when she was paralyzed with fear and so out of her depth. 

She didn't know what to do or how to fight against this. Fortunately, she didn't need to, for now.

The temperature dropped another few degrees, there was a kind of freezing wind which surrounded her for a moment before disappearing. "_He's mine_," Cersei said, because it could be nobody else, her voice distant and faint. 

Brienne rushed to Jaime, who was unmoving on the couch and put her hand on his neck. He had a pulse and was still breathing. After one minute, he opened his eyes and looked at her. 

"Do you believe me now?"

...


	4. Chapter 4

The hours crawled slowly while Jaime waited for Agent Tarth to come back to his house after her shift. _Brienne_, he thought, if she was going to be helping him, the least he could do was use her name, the same way she had been using his.

He was still shocked she believed him and relieved that someone did. It was more that she believed her own two eyes and had been unable to deny what was going on once she had seen Cersei in action, though. Jaime rubbed at his throat, swallowing painfully and heading to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea with honey to soothe it.

He'd been lucky Brienne was there, had not been sure he'd wake up again when he lost consciousness with Cersei's hands around his neck. But he had woken up to concerned blue eyes, the same blue eyes he had fixated on a few days before when Brienne had come to his place with Agent Asshole. It had been a pleasant surprise to open his door to let them in and look up to see her beautiful and calm eyes. There was something about her that prompted Jaime to speak candidly when he would not think of doing so with any of her colleagues, it was her eyes, the deep blue of the waters surrounding Tarth and so very calm. He had thought about them since that first time, though it now felt like that person had been someone different, the time before Cersei had come back to torture him a lifetime away.

He'd had a few days respite after his visit to the Temple of R'hllor, enough to make him believe it might have worked, though he still had the words of the priestess in the back of his mind. He had finished his part in his project at work and spent some time with his brother and sister in law, he'd loved their expressions when he presented them with most of the Lannister jewels. The emerald necklace and wedding ring he kept as a memento of his mother, little as he remembered her. 

It was after that Cersei came back, and Jaime hadn't had in himself to be surprised by it. For the last two weeks, he couldn't have slept more than a handful of hours, and when he did he always dreamt of her, his own subconscious determined to give him no rest either. He was so tired, so very tired, he had been considering moving and even spent one night in a hotel. Cersei had followed him there, forcing him awake every time he started to fall asleep until he had been able to do nothing but stare at the ceiling, crying from exhaustion but unable to sleep. 

He knew Tyrion was worried about him, and Jaime had been once again tempted to tell him. In the end, Jaime had lied, citing stress from work and taken three weeks leave. He told his brother he was going to use them to disconnect and rest. He had seen the relief on Tyrion's expression and had felt terrible for it.

He just didn't know what to do anymore. 

He had checked everywhere in his flat, but Cersei has never been there, Jaime had purchased the penthouse after her death, his old place had reminded him too much of her. He'd also thrown away everything of her in a fit of pique when he was moving. 

He had been positive whatever made her come back was in the box, but now he didn't know. 

He'd gone to the temple again in a moment of desperation, but the red priestess was nowhere to be found. He asked about her, but when the Temple's priestess had come out, it wasn't the one who spoke to him. 

He had resigned himself that maybe this was it; Cersei had always taken what she wanted from him, why would this time be different?

The knock on the door brought him back to the present and he hurried to open. Brienne was at his door looking awkward; outside the sun was rising, bathing everything in golden light. Jaime knew the doubts she must be having, the same ones he had when it all began. 

It was quite difficult to believe in ghosts in the light of day. 

He let her in, her eyes strayed to his throat when she passed and she nodded to herself. 

"Do you want some coffee?" he offered and she accepted. 

They sat on the couch once they had their mugs of coffee, the silence stretching awkwardly between them until she sighed, lips ticking up in a tiny smile. "There is nothing in the Police manual to help with this kind of situation," she said, looking down at her hands. "I want to help you, I just don't know how."

"Believe me, there is no manual anywhere. You're already helping."

They fell silent again, staring at each other. He remembered the first time she had knocked on his door, how surprised he'd been by how tall and big she was, and her coarse features which meant she would bever be pretty, but her eyes had been memorable. He could just stare into her eyes and feel his heartbeat calming down. 

He did, now, and began to speak. 

Hearing it out loud; the voices, the things being thrown around him, her hands always hurting, Jaime was grateful he hadn't said anything to his brother. It did sound insane. 

"I went to the Temple of R'hollor and there was this priestess," he said, that made Brienne, who had been beginning to flag after a while, perk up again. "She told me Cersei wasn't in the things I brought but it was a good start. And to come back when I found her." 

He still had no idea where to look.

"Red hair and eyes, a big shiny red gem on her throat, very cryptic?" she asked, and Jaime nodded. That was a pretty accurate description. "That's Melisandre, the High Priestess."

"A phoney?"

Brienne shook her head. "I don't think so, there is something very unnerving about her. She's helped us a couple of times, though most of my colleagues either make fun of her or are too terrified to speak to her."

He remembered the disturbing intensity of the woman. "I still don't know what brought Cersei back, though." He looked around, almost fearful of conjuring her by saying her name out loud like this, but nothing happened. His flat was still bathed in the light of the sun, all his books thrown haphazardly on the floor. He knew the top floor was a mess, not that he'd gone there lately. 

When this was over, he was just going to hire a cleaning crew and throw away everything unsalvageable. He had enough money to replace it. 

He realized this was the first time in the past couple of weeks he had thought about this being over. Since the moment Cersei came back, and as she escalated, he had started to believe there was no way this ended, at least not in any way good for him. But now he believed it, it might be the daylight or the fact that he could speak about it with someone who knew and wouldn't think him crazy. 

Or it might just be her, her calm and determination making him believe it was possible. 

"You burned all her stuff?" she asked again, bringing Jaime back to the present. He sighed and gestured to the cardboard box still in the corner. 

"That's all there's left, and it was my mother's not my sister's. I've given the rest of the jewels to my brother, and since he's still alive, she couldn't have been in those."

Brienne stood. "Can I?"

"Knock yourself out." He closed his eyes for a moment, there was not enough caffeine in the world to keep him alert when he was this drained. He could feel himself slipping into unconsciousness, the noises of Brienne rummaging in the box not enough to disturb him, at least not until he heard her shout. 

He was wide awake instantly, his heart hammering in his chest. "What?"

"This box is freezing cold," she said, picking up carefully the black velvet box with Joanna's necklace. Brienne winced and put it on the couch, rubbing her hands against her trousers. Jaime touched the box carefully, but it wasn't cold. He looked at Brienne and she nodded, they both held their breaths while the box opened. 

She extended her hand to touch the delicate necklace inside and removed it immediately with a groan of pain, the tips of her fingers where she had touched it already reddening. "You said there was nothing of hers?"

"This was our mother's," he said, frowning faintly at it. He touched it but felt nothing strange. It was just gold and emeralds.

"Your sister was wearing it when she died," Brienne said. He opened his mouth to deny it, say that Tywin had never allowed Cersei close to the damned thing regardless of the tantrums she threw, but she continued. "I saw the police report pictures, she was wearing that necklace when she died."

Jaime took it out of the box and looked at it close, turning it this way and that, but it looked and felt just the same. He remembered the message Cersei had left in his voicemail that last night. How Tywin had taken everything from her and she was going to take everything from him as well. He had always assumed it referred to him, how out of his three children Jaime had always been the only one his father cared about. At least until he had deviated from his father's plan for him. But yes, if Cersei had wanted to hurt their father, taking both Jaime and Joanna's most prized possessions was the way to do it. "Then let's get rid of this thing." Now that he knew, he couldn't wait to do it.

Jaime stood from the couch, suddenly feeling much more awake. "Wait, that looks terribly expensive." Brienne looked between the necklace and Jaime, her face showing her doubts. "What if I'm wrong?" 

"I already have more money than any one person should have. If it gives me one good night of sleep, I'll destroy a thousand like this. But you're not."

...

Melisandre was waiting for them at the entrance of the Temple, an enigmatic smile on her face. "I knew you'd find it." She took them to the back, the same pyre where Jaime had been before and thrown everything else. This time there were no people chanting around it, though the fire still burned hot. There were shapes in the flames, shapes Jaime didn't want to decipher. "I see you found her as well."

He exchanged a look with Brienne, who was for some reason flushed. The light of the fire was reflected in her eyes, and in there it looked a lot more fascinating than whatever the Lord of Light was trying to show them, if it was trying to show them something. 

"Hand me the object," Melisandre said, and Jaime looked away from Brienne's eyes, feeling his own cheeks heating.

"She was wearing this when she died," he confirmed as he passed it to her. 

Melisandre hissed when she closed her hand around hit, the gem at her throat pulsating with light. "Yes, I can feel it." She turned to look at the flames. "Please watch."

Both Jaime and Brienne turned as she threw it into the flames.

"Lord of Light, look down upon us, Lord of Light, protect us in the darkness," Melisandre began chanting, her voice soft and melodic. In the pyre the flames were dancing, moving over wood and metal and gemstones, they looked as if they were alive. "Lord of Light, cleanse this soul, Lord of Light shine your Light among us. For the night is long and full of terrors."

"For the night is long as full of terrors," Jaime repeated, having heard the people the previous time. 

The flames folded over the necklace then, lapping at the gold and melting it. Jaime heard a noise, too low at the beginning but in crescendo, and it was making his hair stand on end. In the pyre, the flames took on a familiar face, glaring at him with hatred in her eyes, her mouth opening in a scream that matched the noise enveloping him. It changed, then, the Cersei in the fire smiled gently at him, the girl he had known and loved, and opened her arms. Without noticing Jaime took a step forward, then another, the heat of the flames scorching his face. 

A hand gripped his arm and pulled him back from the pyre, he turned his eyes from the flames to see Brienne looking worriedly at him. "_Stay here_."

Jaime took a breath and moved to grab Brienne's hand with his, using it to ground himself lest he was tricked again.

When the flames had completely devoured their offering, the scream had reached a deafening pitch, though neither Melisandre, who was still chanting, not Brienne seemed affected by it. There was a pop in his ears, like a sudden change of pressure, and the flames were once again flames. He felt a tingle in his right hand, which was clutching Brienne's, and suddenly breathing was the easiest it had been in the past month. 

"She's gone," he said with certainty. 

Melisandre looked at him before she gave a slow nod. "You look lighter." Her eyes dropped to his hand, and he blushed, releasing Brienne's. She turned to her then. "Come back when you need to."

She herded them out and disappeared again, ignoring Jaime's thanks or his questions about where to make a donation to the temple. He took a mental note to do it as soon as he had slept for a year. 

"I can't thank you enough, Brienne," he said when they reached the street. They had come in Brienne's car, but he wasn't going back home now. There was a hotel just a couple of minutes from where they were, and Jaime couldn't wait to fall asleep. 

"No thanks needed."

"I think they are, and I think I want to thank you properly," he had an idea then. "Why don't you have dinner with me? Not today, next week after we have slept some. At least I." Jaime smiled at her. He was exhausted but felt like smiling for the first time. He would also call his brother once he woke up and take him and Shae out for dinner, show him there was nothing to worry about. 

Not anymore. 

"I don't think that's a good idea," Brienne said, her voice not as friendly as before. "You don't owe me anything." There were walls now that hadn't been there a minute ago, Jaime wasn't sure what he'd said that was so offensive. He hadn't even told her about his real relationship with Cersei.

"I don't, but I would love to treat you to dinner as a thank you, and I would also like to know you." It was the truth. He knew why she was wary, what she had said about her Septa and the cruelty of people. She was ugly. So what? Jaime didn't care about that, he had asked her to dinner, not to bed."Not many people would do what you just did, and I won't be able to discuss what's happened with anyone. I don't think you can either."

"Just dinner?" she asked.

"Yes. You might decide I'm an asshole after all, now that I'm not haunted."

"Fine. Next week then." She gave him her number and Jaime sent her a text. "Now, go get some sleep."

He did.

...

Jaime didn't know why he was feeling so nervous, this was just dinner with a woman. It wasn't even a date.

It had been an impulse asking her out that day, both of them exhausted to the point of dropping out, limbs still shaking after the entire ordeal. She had looked shocked at his words, and then sceptical and hurt. Jaime remembered the things she said about her Septa, how she used to call her ugly and brutish. He would bet anything the Septa hasn't been the last person to call her those names, and probably some worse ones. 

Jaime didn't care about that. What if she wasn't pretty? He had asked her out because she was interesting and kind. The polar opposite of what Cersei had been. It didn't need to be more than this, they could be just friends and it would have been worth it, he hadn't really thought about anything else so he didn't know why the nerves now. 

Chances were, they wouldn't have any type of spark, the way it usually was for him.

He told himself that while he waited for her in the restaurant where they had agreed to meet. She arrived, looking shocked to see him at the table as if the past few days of chatting on the phone when she ad a moment had not existed. She was wearing a very simple dress that showed some of the most amazing legs Jaime had ever seen, and black heels that made her even taller. Her face was still too broad, her nose still broken and there were too many freckles on her face, but her hair fell on soft curls to her shoulders, instead of the harsh slicked-back look, and she was wearing a bit of lipstick and black liner in her eyes which made them even more striking.

Suddenly Jaime thought it would not be a problem to feel any kind of spark, and the way her eyes travelled up and down his body, now that he had washed and trimmed his hair and beard and didn't have bruises under his eyes, meant she probably liked what she saw.

Jaime got to his feet with a smile. "Brienne."

This wasn't a date, but the next one, the next one could be.

…


	5. Chapter 5

Brienne opened her eyes and stretched luxuriously on the bed. She smiled, feeling a pleasant ache in parts of her body she had almost forgotten could ache pleasantly, rubbing her naked body on the million thread count sheets she had never imagined would feel so good against her bare skin. She felt well rested in spite of the darkness still coming from the window, just the first touches of orange rising in the distance. 

"Jaime," she whispered, extending her hand to touch him and bring him closer to her. Maybe they could go through round number three, or was it number four? 

Brienne couldn't remember, and it wasn't like it mattered, this was easily the best sex she'd had in her life. Not that she'd had that much sex, but even if she had, she had the feeling this would top all of it. 

She had wondered during those first few dinners whether Jaime had asked her out as a joke, though it didn't feel like something Jaime would do once he got to know him. She had also considered it could be out of gratitude; Brienne had been the one person who believed in him and helped him, and Jaime was not so much out of her league as they were playing completely different sports. They had never called it a date, at least not until the fourth time they had gone out together. She had been happy to just spend time with him, as friends. Jaime didn't appear to have many, and to be honest, neither did Brienne.

Then, on the fourth time, they went out Jaime had taken her hand like she had done to him in front of the fire. Brienne had blushed and almost pulled it out of his grip but Jaime had tightened his fingers around hers. "I have the feeling if I let you escape now, I won't see you again," he had said, and Brienne had stopped. She had been considering running the moment their hands touched. She had been considering running since the first night in the restaurant when he had stood to greet her and she had seen how well a week of proper sleep and a nice suit had done for him. "If you are not interested and want us to be just friends, I will accept it. But I would like for this to be a date. The first of many."

"I would like that," she had said after a moment consideration, her voice strangled. She almost believed he was going to drop her hand like a hot potato and laugh at her, but what he did was smile, wide and happy. 

"We'll be taking it slow, though, I hope you don't mind." 

Brienne hadn't. 

She had known Jaime was somehow damaged, one couldn't go through what he had gone through and come out the other side unscathed, but in the past few days, she had come to like him. 

He had not been joking about taking it slow. Jaime would take her hand every time they went out, and they went to many different places, dinner and cocktail bars, and to the theatre and movies and, in one memorable occasion, he took her to an exhibit of Targaryen era weaponry in the museum. It was opening night, and everywhere there were attractive people wearing expensive gowns. Jaime had offered to get her one if she wanted but had also said she would be perfect wearing whatever she preferred. The gala was sponsored by Lanniscorp, nobody was going to say anything to his plus one lest he decided to put his money somewhere else next time.

That might have been the day she had started to fall from him, instead of just liking or lusting after him, though she was still waiting for him to make the first move, and she wasn't the best at waiting. Her old insecurities had come back with a vengeance when after a month of dates Jaime had not asked her to his place or even tried to kiss her, the voice in her head that sounded like Septa Roelle reminding her nobody would want an ugly cow like her.

The voice had fallen silent last night when he had finally kissed her in his car, his mouth hot and hard and devouring. Or when they'd gone to his apartment and he had pressed her against the wall of the lift, almost as if he couldn't stop kissing her. Or when they had practically ripped each other's clothes off as soon as they were inside his penthouse, making it only as far as the couch when Jaime had practically carried her in a display of strength Brienne had rarely seen. He had thrown her on the couch and then gone to his knees and pressed his mouth to her wet cunt, making Brienne scream loud enough to get another complaint from the neighbours. The voice had not spoken later when they'd made it upstairs to the bed and he had fucked her, clutching at her back and chanting her name like a prayer. And after that when she had ridden him, for the first time in her life not ashamed of the strength of her legs and the power of her body, a look of wonder in his eyes, his hands roaming every inch of skin he could reach. 

Yes, it was round number four, or it would be if Jaime was still in bed. 

Brienne turned to look for him and saw the small orange burn of a cigarette tip out in the balcony. She got out of bed, grabbing the first thing she saw to cover her body against the slight chill of the early morning air. 

"Jaime," she said, joining him outside in the balcony. "You're going to get cold."

He was wearing only his underwear, completely uncaring of the chill, his skin raising goosebumps in Brienne's where she pressed herself against his back. He turned to look at her, his green eyes shining in the dim light and immediately dismissing her, taking a puff from his cigarette. Jaime shrugged his shoulders to shake her off. 

Brienne felt her stomach sink at the gesture and the coldness of his expression when he looked at her. She took a step back until she wasn't touching him anymore and breathed deeply to calm down. "Jaime, are you alright?"

"Never better," he said, and his voice was as cold as she had ever heard it. "I was hoping you'd leave while I was out here, but no such luck. If I'd known you were this clingy I wouldn't have fucked you, but you were gagging for it." Brienne felt physically sick at his words. This couldn't be happening, this was her worst nightmare. "Are you going to stay here long? Or are you hoping for another fuck before you get out? Who knows when you'll have another chance with that face." There was a bottle of wine resting on the balustrade, Jaime picked it and took a drink straight from it. A drop escaped past his lips, and Brienne stared stupefied as it made its way down from his mouth to his chin, her stomach churning and her eyes stinging. She wasn't going to cry, not here, not over this man. 

Brienne blinked, still staring at the wine drop; it was dark red and Jaime's words from one of their dinners came to mind. "I can't stand red wine, though I always have a couple of bottles at home because my brother loves it. It was Cersei's poison of choice."

She closed her eyes, feeling supremely stupid for a moment. 

Brienne could be wrong and about to humiliate herself even further, but there was something strange going on here. If he had just wanted to fuck her and then kick her out, why the long dates, the slow seduction? Jaime was incredibly beautiful and charming, she would have come back to his flat with him on the first night if he's asked her to. But he had gone slowly, had made sure Brienne knew he wasn't after sex. He had made her fall in love with him, with his sense of humour and his irreverence, his wit and snark and how he never took anything seriously, especially not himself. He had made her love him with his vulnerability, opening up about his sister and asking about her own past, her own traumas, never dismissing them. 

She couldn't believe the same Jaime who had taken his time before even kissing her was doing this. 

"_Cersei_," she said and made sure not to make it a question. 

Jaime laughed, loud and shrill and turned her head to look fully at Brienne. "Well done, you ugly cow, _well done_." He took the bottle and drank again, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "I knew he wouldn't have chosen you for your looks. He was always the stupidest Lannister, he needs someone with brains, even if they come in _that_ package." This wasn't Jaime. The body was the same it had been an hour ago, but his posture was all wrong, the look on his face was all wrong and even the way he spoke had the wrong cadence. 

"What are you doing?" she began, but it was obvious she was possessing him. "Why are you doing this?"

_"Because I can._" Cersei laughed again throwing her head back, the gesture the same Brienne had seen on those photos when this started, it looked strange on Jaime, the cruel twist of the mouth one that didn't suit him. "I told you he was mine. It's past time we're together again. It's a pity you woke up before I was done, I just wanted one last drink before we left together." Brienne trembled, horrified. Cersei meant to kill Jaime. If she hadn't woken up-- "It's been so long, and I've missed wine."

"We burned the necklace," Brienne said, remembering Cersei's shadow in the flames, how the gemstones had melted and the sound almost like a scream. "You were gone."

"Was I?" Cersei turned fully to her and took a step, Brienne took a step back keeping the distance between them. "I will never be gone, Jaime loves me so I will always be with him."

"He doesn't," Brienne said, certain. It was the one thing she knew for sure. "He did once, he told me, but you hurt and betrayed him too many times."

Jaime's face twisted in anger, cold and terrible. "_He was the one who betrayed me_, we were supposed to die together." She kept advancing until Brienne had retreated as far as she could in the balcony, her back against the glass door. She pinned Brienne there, not quite touching her. "We came into this world together, his right hand clinging to my foot. He's always been clinging to me, wanting me to be only his. He got me a ring, has he told you? Silly little trinket. After the first time we fucked, he already wanted to marry me."

"_Where is Jaime? _What have you done to him?" Brienne asked, her voice firmer than she felt. She felt shaky all over but was not going to let her know it. 

"With me, where he should be. He's all but screaming at me not to hurt you, the stupid boy." Cersei sounded almost fond like this, but there was a cruel curl to her mouth. She lifted Jaime's hands and placed them on Brienne's cheeks, a parody of his gesture when he had kissed her the first time. Brienne was frozen in fear and revulsion. "I think, if he doesn't shut up, I will just kill you," the hands moved down and encircled her neck. "Do you think hell jump straight down the balcony if he sees you dead by his own hand?"

There was a moment of pure paralyzing fear as Jaime's hands brushed her throat, it was burned immediately in a fury the likes of which she had rarely felt. It was the same kind of fury that had made her transfer out of Tarly's precinct, but not before she punched Ron Connington in the face. 

"What about one last kiss, would you like that?" Cersei said, leaning forward to brush Jaime's lips against Brienne's. She wanted to scream or throw up, she did neither. The hands tightened around her and Brienne narrowed her eyes. 

She took a breath and leaned her head back as far as it went. "You're forgetting something, Cersei."

She arched up an eyebrow in one of Brienne's favourite expressions on Jaime's face, it didn't look like him, though, he didn't have this malice. "Am I? And what would that be?"

"_I'm stronger than Jaime_." 

She brought her head forward, hard and fast, crashing her forehead against Jaime's. Cersei stumbled back, momentarily stunned, and Brienne didn't waste the opening she had been given. Clean fighting was for competitions, not for real life or death situations. With a silent apology to Jaime, Brienne punched him in the stomach and then the side of his head in quick succession, not surprised when he dropped to the floor, dazed. Brienne didn't have the time to check whether Cersei had released her hold on her brother, she straddled his prone form and grabbed him in a chokehold, her stomach churning the whole time until he was limp in her arms. 

She had a moment of nausea. "I'm sorry," she told him, though he couldn't hear. Then she dragged his unconscious body to the bedroom. She missed her cuffs, which were back home with her uniform and her gun, but just opened drawers until she found one full of ties and secured Jaime's wrists with them before getting dressed. 

She had just put on her trousers when she wouldn't keep it in anymore, she rushed to the toilet and emptied her stomach there, retching bile and feeling tears running down her face. 

After a few minutes, she took some calming breaths and stood up, washing her face in the sink. Jaime was still unconscious, which was a blessing, and she finished getting dressed and put some clothes on him.

She knew where she had to go.

…

"It's in his right hand," Brienne said when Melisandre appeared by Jaime's car window.

It had been hard to move an unconscious and half-naked Jaime without arousing suspicion. Fortunately, he had his car in the garage and the keys dangling from a hook by the door. It still had taken Brienne longer than she was comfortable with to drag his unresisting ass to the car, fearing he would wake up and it would be Cersei again looking at her from his eyes. She also feared it would not be her, and she would drown in guilt before she did what she knew now they had to do. 

"I saw you coming in the flames," Melisandre said, opening the door and helping with her precious cargo. "We need to get him inside before she wakes up."

They didn't waste more time, the streets were deserted at this time of night but the sky was already lightening up, day approaching quickly. The pyre was already built in the back and they got as close as possible. 

Once there, seeing the flames, Brienne had second thoughts. She had seen what those flames had done before and knew what they had to do now. But she couldn't. 

Brienne stumbled back a step, the weight of Jaime falling on Melisandre who didn't falter at all. She turned to Brienne. "The Lord of Light will help if your friend is worth it."

"I can't," she said, shaking her head. 

"He would be dead if you hadn't brought him here, I saw it in the flames," Melisandre brought Jaime to the edge of the pyre. "If you love him, you'll help him be cleansed of this parasite before it kills him."

Brienne nodded slowly and approached them, she untied Jaime's hands and took her right arm. "What if we hurt him? He'll hate me for it."

"If he does, then he's not worthy of R'hllor's help, and then _it will hurt_."

Jaime's eyes opened then, it was still Cersei looking out from them. She struggled, uselessly, not only Brienne was holding with all her strength, but Melisandre was also stronger than she looked. "Will you hurt him like this?" he blinked, the coldness disappearing. "Brienne, please don't. Please." It was Jaime's eyes and Jaime's voice now, and he was pleading that she let him go. 

She almost loosed her grip but saw Melisandre shake her head. 

"I'm sorry," she said, and lifted his arm until his right hand was right on top of the flames. 

There was a scream and the smell of charred meat once the flames engulfed his hand. "Don't look away," Melisandre said, "Lord of Light, look down upon us, Lord of Light, protect us in the darkness, Lord of Light, cleanse this soul, Lord of Light shine your Light among us." the flames danced over his hand and Cersei screamed, but after the first moment there wasn't a smell anymore and the skin of his hand wasn't even blistering in such intense heat.

"For the night is long and full of terrors," Melisandre finished her chant.

"For the night is long and full of terrors," Brienne repeated. The flames moved then, crawling over Jaime's arm and engulfing him for an instant. Brienne held on to him, even when she could feel the heat, and then they were gone. 

Melisandre looked into the flames and smiled. "She's gone. For good this time, no other loophole for her to exploit and go back to torment her brother."

She helped her take Jaime not to the car this time, but to a room at the back of the temple where there was a bed. They put Jaime there and Melisandre turned to leave. "You can see yourselves out when he wakes up and you both feel better."

"Thank you," Brienne said, already dropping on the bed next to Jaime.

"No thanks needed."

Then they were alone, and Brienne allowed herself the tears she had kept at bay since the moment she woke up, let herself feel the horror of Cersei's taunts and the hurt of her words said in Jaime's voice. 

He woke up at some point, and his arms tightened around her. Jaime pressed a kiss to her head, then her forehead and her nose and finally a dry one against her lips, brief and chaste. "I'm so sorry," he said, "I saw it all, I'm so sorry she did that to you."

"I know."

"I won't blame you if you decide this is too much and leave now," he said, and he sounded terrible, sad and regretful and almost as broken as when they first met. 

Brienne sighed. "I'm not going anywhere." 

He kissed her, deeply and desperately, still tasting of her tears. She returned the kiss and realized she was being truthful, not just saying it for him. 

It would be a victory for Cersei if she managed to break them up now, and she wasn't going to win. Brienne loved Jaime and seemed to love her. They had managed to defeat a vengeful ghost on their first night together, nothing the world threw at them would be too hard. 

She really wasn't going anywhere.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy I finished this on time. Happy Halloween everyone!  
It's been a lot of fun to try my hand at a creepy, horror type story. Please let me know if I managed to creep you out, even a bit!  
thanks to everyone who commented and left kudos, you're the best!

**Author's Note:**

> Character Death, well, Cersei but she's a ghost so that should be pretty obvious.  
Domestic abuse, not quite graphic but more than just hinted at.  
Discussions of domestic abuse where one person is an insensitive asshole.  
Violence, though not very descriptive.


End file.
